


Addiction

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-23
Updated: 2005-02-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian's take on his relastionship with Justin, set any season. Please R&R.





	Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It was addiction. 

 

Brian knew that. 

 

Justin’s naked form, spread out across the bed, his head nuzzled in his arms, the curve of his back, that pale skin marred only slightly by the bruises and the bites Brian had left there. Brian slid his hand down it, from the top of the neck, fingers enmeshing momentarily in the sharp blonde hair, down the spine, feeling the ribs spreading out like angel’s wings on either side, brittle and beautiful, pushing against the skin. His finger traced the indent in the skin where those wings met, down to the small of Justin’s back, which was soft with invisible hair. To those perfect teenage butt cheeks, one tinged pink from where Brian had slapped it not moments before, a warning for Justin’s squirming.

 

He could see the teens face, turned on one side, squished slightly against the pillow. Justin’s tongue darted out, in concentration.

 

“Keep your eyes on the wall.” Brian repeated, his other hand stroking the side of Justin’s thigh. Brian had learnt somehow along the way just how to torture Justin. Oh, of course he’d known how to torture men before, holding back at that vital moment, the moment they wanted to cum, pausing, waiting, sucking and then stopping, playing with them. Fun and games. But with Justin he’d finessed these games, learnt to de-code Justin’s moans and grunts and lip biting. 

 

He ran his hand across that back again, as though reading brail. He leant forward; his hands pushing Justin’s lower back into the bed, and pulled at the skin on Justin’s left shoulder with his teeth. He moved up towards the neck, tasting the flesh, and with one hand pushed through that blonde hair almost violently. Brian rubbed his two fingers together, feeling slightly oily texture Justin left on his fingers. 

 

He could taste the salt and the sweat and the soap, and that other indescribable taste that was Justin, on his tongue. He nipped at the skin with his teeth, and Justin moaned again, trying to suppress it. Brian tugged at his ear lobe.

 

“Quiet.” He said demandingly. “Or we’ll stop.” There was no ‘if’s’ or ‘butts’ with Brian, so Justin remained still, clenching his feet only because he knew Brian could not see them. It was the only thing he dared to do. Last time Brian was in one of these languorous moods, he tried to move his hands in a moment of desperation, and Brian had caught them together in one hand, pulling them up behind Justin’s back until it hurt so much that Justin had arched against him, unseating Brian. He had learnt his lesson, after what had come after.

 

What Brian was looking for, Justin didn’t know. 

 

Brian licked his lips, as though confirming the taste of Justin. He had gotten used to it he realised, had started being able to differentiate it from the other tricks skin. For so long, he’d thought they all tasted the same, but now, in the blue lights, he could admit that he knew Justin’s taste. Knew it, and was maddened by it. Like those sniffer dogs that could be trained to bark at the smell of drugs.

 

You became used to these things. 

 

Habits formed, almost without our thinking.

 

Brian’s life was made up of addictions as well as those contradictions of personality. Cigarettes, alcohol, coffee, sex. Those were the obvious ones. But there little habits he tried to hide, or make seem accidental. The feeling of walking barefoot across the floorboards of the loft. His bracelet he felt naked without, even when he was naked. His guava juice. The way he liked his eggs done a special way, sunny side up. How he always watched the sopranos, week in week out. His shampoo, expensive imported stuff that he couldn’t do without.

 

Habits. 

 

It had been the same when he was a kid. Those stupid comic books with Michael. The stupid movies, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Back to the Future. Star Wars. If him and Michael got going, they could say those movies line for line.

 

If you did something enough, you became addicted didn’t you? That’s the way it was with drugs. They were fun for one time, maybe two, but soon, if you didn’t watch yourself, you became addicted. You had to leave days, maybe weeks in-between, to prove to yourself that you weren’t. That you were stronger then the drug.

 

It was a chemical thing, he knew that. You became used to the smell or the taste, and it would trigger a chemical reaction in your brain. Reminding you that you wanted it. Telling you that you needed it. 

 

Need.

 

“Ahah” Justin started, as Brian bit too hard. Brian leant back, waiting to see if the boy moved again. He didn’t. 

 

“Smart boy.” Brian whispered, and shifted back slightly, so that his hands could rove freely across Justin’s backside. His fingers ran down the spine again, and then he followed the path with his tongue, but he went further this time, feeling Justin’s skin tremble with anticipation beneath his touch.

 

But Brian hadn’t been smart. 

 

He’d let himself become addicted. 

 

That’s why you never did a trick twice. The golden rule. Yes, boredom and fear of repetition were part of it, they always had been. But there was that other temptation. If you could do it twice, why not more?

 

But, Brian had always been one to break the rules. 

 

He removed his lips from Justin’s skin. And waited. For that tiny disappointed gasp, the stifled moan.

 

“Turn around.” He said quietly, his hands on Justin’s hips to help him complete the order. He looked at the body from this side. The bush of hair, the snail trail leading up to that little inny of a belly button. The smooth skin that hinted that it might one day harden, become a six-pack. Those pubescent hips. That tiny waist. Brian had to work so hard to achieve the same. Brian could see bruises, fingerprint shaped, around that waist. His own. He’d dug too hard into that flesh, though neither of them had known at the time. He let his fingers play with Justin, tease him a little, while he busied himself with Justin’s nipple ring.

 

At least that tasted like what it was. Impersonal, cold metal, pushing against his tongue. But he could feel Justin’s nipple hardening, and he knew in moments Justin would give in to the temptation, the pull, and would lift a arm, to place a hand on Brian’s back, or run it through Brian’s hair, maybe even be bold enough to drag him up for a kiss. To pull him in. Brian glanced up at those eyes.

 

Yes, he hadn’t been smart.

 

He had finally been tricked by a trick. The irony. 

 

He licked his lips, and Justin groaned at the sight of this, a beg wanting to escape those lips, but not daring too. Brian chuckled against Justin’s skin. He’d make Justin beg for it, give him time. His hands were breaking him.

 

It was a little bit of everything. 

 

It wasn’t just the taste of Justin in his mouth, or the touch of that too smooth to be true skin. It was the habit of being able to sling his arm around him after leaving Babylon. At being able to have one hand on Justin’s back while they drank at Woodys, feeling smooth flesh, his flesh as much as the one on his body, owned possessively by him, as they listened to another boring story from Michael or Ted or Emmet. It was seeing Justin in his apartment, curled up on the sofa, or in the bed, or in the shower. It was the smell of him in the sheets. The sound of him talking in the morning, when Brian wasn’t listening to the words, but just letting them roll in the air like background ambience, like that unnoticeable music played sometimes at a restaurant that seeps into the experience and makes it so relaxing, so much better, without you even noticing. And the taste of him, god the taste, it stayed with Brian all day, at the office, in meetings, he could feel it on his teeth no matter how much he brushed, in his hair, on his hands like that nicotine smell that won’t go away. 

 

And he would notice, with every trick he fucked, that the skin wouldn’t feel the same, the smell wouldn’t be the same, the taste, the moans; none of it was the same. He’d notice it. That was all. Just note it down, a tiny involuntary comparison that he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to.

 

So it was addiction. Some chemical in him that made his body beat faster now, preparing the body for the sex that it was used to when it felt, or saw, or smelt the boy. Some thing that drove his blood to that heightened state, where he would rip the clothes off the boy, growling against that skin, that hair, those lips, claiming his ownership with his teeth and his nails.

 

“Please Brian…” Justin whispered and gasped again. He shuddered beneath Brian, his body as out of control as Brian felt, his mouth opening and closing, but only breath coming out. Justin’s breath. 

 

Brian couldn’t say no, he could never say no. He dived forward, kissing the boy, tasting, touching.

 

Getting his fix.

 

Yes Brian knew about addiction. He knew that the smell of a cigarette could send him craving. The touch of Prada could make him blow his whole wage in a days spending spree. He intimately met a thousand different drugs on a thousand different nights.

 

But never had he known a drug so strong, an addiction so unrelentingly demanding and unexpectedly surfacing, that could be induced by anything, at any moment, in any place. Something small like the smell of coffee or shampoo, or a paleness to a tricks hair, that would cause the overwhelming his senses, all of his senses, not just one, but his entirety, and pound into him with a desire so strong that it drove itself into his blood and possessed his body.

 

No drug that could possess Brian as much as Justin had.

He was addicted to this pale, ethereal boy beneath him.

Yes, that it was it.


End file.
